


Stealing Their Hearts

by Izzyfandoms, MagicQuill42



Series: Blood Guts and Gore [7]
Category: Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, Background Character Death, Blood, Blood and Gore, Deceit | Janus Sanders Has a Different Name, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gore, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multi, Murder, Sanders Shorts Anxiety uses the name Pan instead of Andy, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28505316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzyfandoms/pseuds/Izzyfandoms, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicQuill42/pseuds/MagicQuill42
Summary: (MAIN STORY 4 OF THE BLOOD GUTS AND GORE SERIES)One year after the family was reunited, things are still awkward between the brothers and their fathers after a thirteen year long separation.Meanwhile, there is a new, anonymous killed: killing in their territory, smashing skulls and stealing hearts. They're trying to send a message, but not one that the Sanders family yet understand.Tensions are rising, and the biggest problem of them all is learning how to be a family again.(The name Dorian is used for Deceit)
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil/Creativity | Roman/Logic | Logan/Morality | Patton, Sleep | Remy Sanders/Thomas Sanders Shorts Anxiety Character | Andy Sanders, Thomas Sanders (Video Blogging RPF)/Original Character(s)
Series: Blood Guts and Gore [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1215180
Comments: 47
Kudos: 60





	1. Prologue

** ONE YEAR LATER **

Logan walked slowly down the street, his cane’s rubber tip clacking softly against the ground as he moved.

It was a dark, quiet night. He was alone as he walked, which was pleasant. Logan loved his family, of course, he did – his husbands were the loves of his life, and it was wonderful to finally get to see and get to know his sons again after so long, even if, in the back of his head, he wondered if he deserved it – but sometimes it was nice to get some alone time.

But when Logan turned a  corner and began to make his way down the next street, he almost immediately spotted the glistening puddle of red that pooled just at the entrance of an alleyway a few feet away from him.

He paused.

If his family were there, he knew that they’d tell him to stay away and call someone else. He may have been quite the decent fighter years ago, but now that he usually relied on a cane when walking around, his husbands had grown to be quite protective of him over the years. He knew that they’d rather he  avoid danger.

But Logan wasn’t – and never had been – one to back down and not give into his curiosity, so he was glad that none of his husbands were around, right now.

He approached the alleyway, and the pool of blood that glistened in the moonlight, as slowly and quietly as he could. His cane still tapped against the ground, but he made sure it was as quiet as possible. As he walked, he listened carefully, but heard nothing besides the normal sounds of the night – like cars in nearby streets, though thankfully not the one he was one.

When he reached the alleyway, he slowly and cautiously peeked around the corner, looking inside.

There wasn’t a living soul inside of that alleyway – which made Logan’s tense shoulders relax in his relief – though... there was a dead one.

A man, with his chest ripped open, exposing jagged, broken ribs and a gap where Logan knew the heart was supposed to be, but wasn’t. His head was  completely destroyed – a mess of skull and blood and brain – like it had been crushed by something large and heavy, though perhaps with something with sharp edges, too.

There was an ID on the ground beside the body: clearly strategically placed there, with every single part of it scribbled out, except for one word – a first name, Richard.

The blood and body looked incredibly fresh, from less than an hour since Logan’s arrival.

And on the opposite wall, illuminated by moonlight, there were two words scrawled across the wall in messy, neon green  spray-paint . The Duke.

Beside the words, was an equally messily drawn broken crown.

Logan stared for a few moments. Then, he sighed.

“They stole my alias,” he said.


	2. Chapter One

“I just don’t understand it,” Roman muttered, shuffling through papers. “No one we’ve come across kills in this manner. Lo, look at this!” 

He thrust one of the papers in his husband’s face. Logan placed his hand over his husband’s, lowering it slowly and giving him a flat look, before he took the paper and looked it over. He squinted at it, how he always looked at things without his glasses, despite the fact that he actually was wearing his glasses.

“...What am I looking at?” He asked.

Roman leant over and tapped a paragraph on the paper. “Three kills in four weeks,” he said. “All inside known Tasks territory, and using your old pseudonym, though it’s still unclear whether or not that actually has anything to do with you. And everyone was brutally beaten to a pulp and their hearts were all stolen! They were all removed precisely, too, despite the messes that the bodies were all left it.”

Logan nodded slowly. “First Richard, and then that couple: Oliver and Mary. I will admit it’s very odd. It was quite a gruesome death too, the one that I saw. There was blood everywhere.”

“Exactly!” Roman said. “But, even with the mess, there wasn’t a speck of DNA in sight.”

“Other than my own, and a hair of yours that had presumably gotten stuck to my clothing,” Logan added.

At the discovery of the hair, when Logan and some subordinates had examined the body, Logan had double-checked with his husband that he hadn’t been the killer – though he’d been certain that it wasn’t, given it wasn’t Roman’s style. Roman had been spending the night with the twins, and hadn’t left their house since hours before the victim would have been killed.

“And there’s no apparent reason for the killings, either!” Roman exclaimed. “They’re just... killing! But it’s clearly not random, because each murder is clearly too planned out for it to be entirely random. All three of them have been in our territory, so it was very clearly deliberate in that respect. So, what, are they just picking a night to kill people and going from there or what?”

“I don’t think it’s that random, either,” Logan added. “Since this... ‘Duke’ seems very focused on us only knowing their first names.”

“Right...” Roman muttered. “Wonder why that is...”

“Are you two still up?” 

They turned, now facing a sleepy Virgil in the doorway, who was rubbing his eyes. Virgil yawned. Then he crossed the room, draping himself against Roman’s back and wrapping his arms around his neck. 

“Come back to bed,” he grumbled. “It’s cold with just me an’ Patty.”

Roman and Logan exchanged fond looks with one another before Roman gently pat Virgil’s arm. 

“ Está bien, mi amor,” he said gently. “We’re coming, we’re coming. Just let me up.”

“No. You wouldn’t come to the pillows so now you are the pillow,” Virgil grumbled, resting his cheek against Roman’s soft hair.

Roman snorted. “Do you want me to carry you to bed?” He was partly joking, but they all knew that he would absolutely do that if Virgil asked him to.

Virgil hummed. “Dunno. I  jus ’  wanna sleep. With you. C’mon, it’s too late to be working.”

Roman chuckled softly and stood slowly, for once thinking that it was unfortunate that his husband was slightly shorter than him, as the movement jostled Virgil and made him pull a face and grumble. He adjusted Virgil slightly, as his husband moved to lean against his side. Roman offered Logan a hand, but was waved off. Logan thrust himself up with his cane and started for the bedroom. 

Roman smiled after him and headed there himself, bringing Virgil along with him. Whoever this Duke was could wait until after he’d snuggled his husbands to sleep. Nothing was more important than that.

***

Patton, unusually, was the first of the Sanders husbands to wake. He hadn’t been the first of his husbands awake in easily ten years. Not for anything less than a birthday or special holiday. He liked his sleep, sue him!

But today, for some unknown reason, he was up before the earliest riser. 

...Well, there was nothing else for it but to make breakfast. And coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. 

He pushed the blankets aside gently so as not to wake whoever had landed closest to him (it looked like it was Logan, this time, whose limbs were tangled with Roman, with Virgil curled up at Roman’s other side) and slipped on his slippers before slipping out the door. 

...Heh  heh ,  _ slipped _ . Even half asleep, Patton still had his winning sense of humor.

He shook his head and walked into the kitchen. He started the coffee maker with his favorite blend and pulled out his phone. 

It rang a few times before a cheery voice picked up.

“Sanders residence! April speaking, how can I help you?” 

“Hey, momma, it’s me!” He smiled, equally cheerful as he leant back against the counter. 

“Oh, Pattycake, how are you today?” His mom gushed. 

“Good. I woke up a bit early, so I was wondering if you had any ideas for what I should make for breakfast? I can’t decide!”

His mother hummed. “Well... you can’t go wrong with some French Toast. That’s always a  favorite , you know? Though... you could also go a less traditional route and make a Monte Cristo!”

“Ooh,” Patton cooed. “That’s a good thought. Dunno that I’m awake enough for that, though. Hmm... is Mom awake, yet?”

His mom chuckled. “Oh, you know her. Won’t get out of bed for anything but a strong cup of joe and some super runny eggs. ...Or good morning kisses, of course.”

Patton giggled. “Aw, how sweet. I guess I take after her in that sense.”

“You sure do,” His mom laughs. “But you got  _ my _ sweet little nose and sweet little toes.”

Patton laughed. “Sure did, Momma. ...You know, I am reconsidering that Monte Cristo.”

“You won’t regret it!” His mother said, in a sing-song voice. “It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it! Making a good breakfast is always a surefire way to get some kisses from your spouses.”

“I dunno... what if I just do cereal?”

There was a beat. “Young man, you put those words back in your mouth. You are not too old for me to take by the shoulders and put in a corner, you know.”

Patton laughed a little. “Only teasing, Momma. I think I’ll just make eggs and toast.”

“Alright. You do that. Make them nice for your boys, okay?” She said. “You know, I think I’ll make your mom some, too. She’s got a long day ahead of her. Oh, that reminds me, did Lo and Ro make any headway on that Duke matter?”

Patton shook his head, even though he knew his mom couldn’t see it. “Not that I know of. I’ll let you two know if something turns up.”

“You’d better,” she sighed softly. “There was a time when we could handle things like this all on our own... but I guess our heyday has passed.”

“Oh, you’re not that old,” Patton tutted, pouring his coffee.

“My  _ grandchildren  _ are old enough to start having their own kids,” his mother sighed dramatically. “My hair is all gray, my skin is all wrinkly, and my own baby boy is graying too! I’m old, Pattycake, old and decrepit!”

“Hardly decrepit!” Patton protested. “...And I’m not that gray. Graying, maybe,” he sighed. But, anyway, you two are perfectly fit, as fit as two ladies in their early eighties could possibly be! And Auntie June is just the same.”

“Oh, Patty, Patty, Patty!” She exclaimed with a light laugh. “ _ Never _ bring up a lady’s age, I thought I raised you better than that!”

He laughed. “Sorry, Momma. I won’t do it again. Just know that you two can still do anything you put your minds to. Especially things like making your wife coffee, before she wakes up, so that it’s piping hot when you give her your good morning kisses. Should put her in a good mood, too, that always works on Logan.”

“Ooh, nice tip. I’ll throw a couple brownie bars in your next care package,” she said. 

“Sounds good, Momma. Love you!”

“Love you, too! Have a great day, sweetheart.”

“You, too.”

He hung up and took a sip of his coffee, before setting it to brew the next cup and pulling out what he’d need for making eggs. If he was first  up, he might as well make the most of it!

And... well... Logan wasn’t going to kiss himself awake, either.

Neither were the rest of his husbands!


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT:
> 
> There is a character using the alias Anxiety mentioned in this chapter: this is Sanders Shorts Anxiety, not Virgil, and his name is Pan instead of the more popular Andy.

“Hey, hey, Dorian!”

Dorian glanced up from his laptop, looking at Remy with his eyebrows raised and an irritated expression on his face, watching as his brother approached him.

“What?” He asked, in an equally irritated tone of voice.

Remy stopped in front of him, placing his hand on his hip and laughing. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

“What is it, Remy?”

“Ugh, fine,” Remy huffed, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. “I  _ just  _ wanted to know if you’d grown a pair and asked out that cute zookeeper guy, yet. Like, I doubt it, but I’m bored and wanna get all the gossip. So, come on, have you?”

Dorian glared at his brother. “I’m not interested in a partner, right now.”

“But, why not?”

“You  _ know  _ why not.”

Remy sighed, loud and exaggerated. “Right, right,” he waved his hand dismissively. “Nate. You know, you really need to get over him. It’s been, like, a year.”

Dorian glared harder.

“I don’t see you bothering  _ Emile  _ about Toby,” he spoke in a voice full of ice. “Probably because you’re still sulking over him, too. Well, come one,  _ Remy _ , it’s been a year. Why aren’t  _ you  _ over him, yet?” The last part was said in a mocking tone, and prompted Remy to glare daggers back at him.

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Oh? Why not?”

Emile interrupted before Remy and Dorian’s argument could escalate. He and Thomas were sat at the other side of the room, doing their own work, but had both tuned in the moment the conversation between their brothers had started. Their discussions often led to arguments, which often led to Emile and Thomas stepping in – pretending not to take sides, though it was always obvious (and consistent) whose sides the two were each one.

“Hey, no,” Emile said. “We’re not doing this again.”

“Yeah,” Thomas added. “Cut it out, you two.”

Remy huffed. “Yeah, whatever.” He then flopped onto the couch as Dorian returned to his laptop, looking bored, as he was the only one not doing anything, his brothers having been doing their own work, all related to the family business.

After almost a minute of silence – all three of his brothers returning to his work and ignoring him again – Remy started speaking again.

“Hey, what’s the zookeeper guy’s name, again?” 

“Not telling.”

“Matt,” Thomas provided immediately. He only glanced up from his work when he heard Dorian’s sigh, and responded to his little brother’s glare with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

Remy clicked his fingers. “Right, Matt.” He paused. “Hmm... I wonder what you guys’ ship name would be? Marian? Morian?” He hummed. “Datt? Or... ooh, Dott! I like that one.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not interested in him, Remy?” Dorian spoke through gritted teeth.

“As many times as it takes for me to actually believe you,” Remy grinned smugly. “Which will be never, BTW. Come on, you’ve  gotta ask him out on  _ at least  _ one date. Or maybe just hook up with him, I don’t know. You’ve  gotta do  _ something _ , how else are you  gonna move on from Nate? Bro, please. I mean, you can even like both of them at once! That doesn’t matter if you just hook up.”

“Why should I?” Dorian said flatly. “It’s not like hooking up with people has ever solved any of  _ your  _ problems.”

Remy laughed, hand over heart. “Ooh, ouch! That one stings,” he joked.

Dorian huffed and rolled his eyes, turning back to his laptop. He only typed a few more words before an idea clicked in his head, and he paused – his hands hovering over his keyboard – the corners of his lips twitching upwards. He turned back to Remy, and his brother immediately raised his eyebrows at Dorian’s newly mischievous expression.

“How’s Anxiety?”

Remy spluttered, and the pair heard Thomas snort and Emile chuckle from across the room. Dorian glanced at them for a moment, before turning back to Remy with a smirk.

“Hmm?” Dorian prompted.

Remy huffed, crossing his arms and looking away. “How the hell would I know? I barely talk to the guy.”

“I don’t know, Remy, you seem to talk about him a lot.”

“Yeah, ‘cos he’s  _ annoying _ . Bastard keeps stealing my kills and making fun of me.”

“Well, you do make it so easy.”

“Hey!”

Dorian raised his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Whatever. Why can’t you just admit you like the guy?”

“I can’t like  him; I don’t even know his name! I just started calling him Anxiety ‘cos he’s always so skittish and nervous. He’s so weak, too! And, like, even shorter than you, which should be impossible ‘cos you haven’t grown since you were, like, fourteen.”

Dorian ignored that jab at his height, as teasing Remy about his crush was just so much more fun.

He nodded slowly, in a way that showed he absolutely did not buy a word of what his brother was saying. “Right. Uh-huh. So, if he’s so weak, how come he keeps ‘stealing your kills’?” He made quotation marks with his fingers at the last three words. “Hmm?”

Remy opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“Yeah, see, there’s two options here,” Dorian continued. “Either he actually  _ isn’t  _ so weak, and is just better than you – which I don’t buy –  _ or...  _ you’re letting him do that. Which is it, huh?”

“Neither!” Remy protested. “He just keeps getting lucky.”

“Maybe I would believe that if it had just happened once or twice, but, damn, Remy, you talk about him, like, a dozen times a week. There’s something up, here. You just aren’t admitting it.”

“It’s true, Rem,” Thomas added.

Emile nodded in agreement, with a similar teasing smile that was on both Dorian and Thomas’s faces, too. “Mhm.”

Remy huffed, crossing his arms. “Wow, you’re all ganging up on me, now. Rude.”

“Maybe you should just ask him out?” Dorian said in a faux-innocent tone, parroting back Remy’s own advice.

Remy waved his hand. “Okay, whatever, I get it. I'll shut up about Matt.”

“ _ Thank  _ you.”

“Even though I  _ know  _ I’m right,” Remy mumbled.

Dorian could hear him, but he chose to ignore him, just rolling his eyes and returning to his unfinished work. His dads had asked him to help looking into this new Duke guy, so he was currently looking around to see if there were any other news of him – other than the three recent bodies.

Richard. Oliver. Mary.

There were whispers of a killer with the alias ‘the Duke’ in other places, too, but it was difficult to figure out what was related. Though there were far less copycats focused on the family members other than Roman, there still existed a few. There had been multiple who just used the same aliases as them in the past, though some of the Duke whispers went back even further than when Logan had first used it for himself. Those had been hard to dig up, though, and led to mostly nothing.

The silence continued for a few more minutes, only occasionally broken by Remy’s quiet verbal responses to notifications on his phone, which Dorian easily ignored.

Then, Remy sighed again – loud and obviously for attention – and Dorian found his eyes reluctantly returning to his brother, yet again. This time, Remy’s gaze landed on Thomas almost immediately, and his eyes lit up with a similar mischievous expression to Dorian’s one only minutes before.

“Hey, hey, Thomathy.”

Thomas glanced up from his work, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“Have you decided to ask ou-”

“Nope.”

“What?”

Thomas shook his head. “Nope, we’re not talking about my love life. Or, uh... my  _ lack  _ of a love life, to be specific. That’s not happening.”

Remy pouted. “Aww, come on. What about R-”

“Remy, shut up or I’m bringing up Anxiety again,” Dorian decided to come to their older brother’s aid.

Thomas snorted, and Remy visibly sulked yet again, kicking his leg in the air and rolling properly onto his back to stare, pouting, at the ceiling.

“You guys are boring.”

“Come on, be nice,” Emile chided gently.

“Whatever.”

Just as Remy finished saying this, the door to the room opened, and all four of the brothers turned to look at it immediately, instantly on guard. They all straightened up when they saw that the new arrival was Patton.

Things were... okay, with their parents. Sometimes it was nice getting to know them again, but sometimes it was just awkward. There were a lot of mixed feelings between them – in particular from the sons to their fathers – though those had hardly come up in conversation since Dorian had apologized for shouting at them a year ago. It wasn’t something any of them really wanted to discuss, so they tended to stick to other topics of conversation whenever possible.

Patton smiled at his sons when he entered the room.

“Gosh, I see you’re all hard at work,” he said, before turning his smile, almost teasingly, onto Remy, looking him over. “Or, well,  _ most  _ of you are.”

Remy snorted, doing a quick, two-fingered salute that immediately reminded Patton of Virgil.

“Is everything okay?” Thomas asked. “Do you need something?”

“Oh, yes!” Patton shifted his weight from one foot to the other, tugging on the sleeves of his hoodie, which was similar to the one they’d seen him wearing all the time when the brothers were all teenagers, and life was simpler. “We were thinking of having a movie night tonight! You know, like we always used to do? We don’t have any onesies, but we can still have pyjamas and popcorn and Disney! Maybe we can get onesies for next time, bring back the tradition. What do you say?”

All four of the brothers did their best to not pull faces at that, but they were clearly unsuccessful as Patton’s smile slipped from his face. He fixed in back in place almost immediately – though it was a lot more uncertain than before – hoping that they hadn’t noticed, though they all had.

“I... I don’t know,” Thomas said, looking away awkwardly and rubbing the back of his head with his hand. “I think I’d rather keep working tonight, sorry. I- I have a lot to do.”

“Me, too,” Emile added. He gave Patton a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

Remy huffed, looking down and mumbling under his breath: “It’s not like we’ve been keeping that up, anyway.”

Unfortunately, they all seemed to hear him. Including Patton.

Patton blinked. “You haven’t?”

Dorian turned a glare on Remy, and both Thomas and Emile turned to him with tired, exasperated expression. He would’ve mouthed the word ‘sorry’ to them, if he hadn’t known that Patton was watching him, too.

None of the brothers seemed to want to answer Patton, so Thomas realised with a sigh that that was probably up to him, as the oldest.

Thomas sighed. “Yeah, we, uh... I guess we just never really wanted to, not after...” he trailed off, leaving a heavy silence in the air for just a moment. “I mean, you know. We’ve had movie marathons together since then, but it wasn’t the same. Never the onesie ones.”

Patton swallowed. “Oh...” he said. “ So. .. does that mean you all don’t want to, then?”

“Well, I’ve just got work to do, and-” Thomas said hurriedly.

“Me, too,” Emile repeated, cutting him off.

“Yeah,” Dorian said. “I promised Father I’d keep  researching this new Duke, so...”

“And I’m already going out to get a kill tonight,” Remy added. “So, I can’t either.”

Patton had visibly deflated more and more with every excuse that his sons made. He tried not to let it show, that much was obvious, but it was easy to tell.

“O- oh, okay. That’s- that’s okay,” Patton said. “No worries. It’s fine. Maybe next time?”

“Maybe,” Thomas said.

Patton left pretty quickly after that, and behind him he left an uncomfortable silence, with bitter tastes in all of his sons’ mouths. None had liked turning their dad’s suggestion down.

The thought of getting up and telling him they’d changed their minds passed through all their heads, but none of them acted on it. They may have been working things out with their parents, recently, but things still weren’t perfect. They were spending more time with them, finally getting to know them again, but it was still wasn’t perfect again.

Memories of old traditions still hurt them, and none of them were ready to bring them back, yet.

***

Thomas had gone out pretty quickly after that uncomfortable conversation with Patton. Partly, it was to clear his head, but he soon returned to work with the Tasks. He’d spoken to his grandmothers – which never stung quite as much as speaking with his dads – and they’d talked about plans for the near and far future, and in particular about theories about the Duke.

There weren’t many theories, if Thomas was honest. This guy was good – he clearly knew what he was doing, and wouldn’t be easy to catch.

They knew they had to, though. This guy could be a threat to their family, and killing in a place pretty well known to be the Tasks’ turf was something that could hardly go unpunished. Thomas was confident in their abilities, and knew that they’d catch him eventually.

Hours flew by, and soon Thomas found himself returning to his dads’ house in the middle of the night, as he’d left his laptop there.

He moved through the hallway quietly. It was dark, meaning they were likely asleep, and he didn’t want to wake them up. That was both because it would’ve been impolite, and also because it would’ve been awkward.

But as he approached the living room door – the room where he’d last seen his laptop – he began to hear noises from inside.

He stopped in his tracks and listened.

It was quiet, but recognisable. Disney music.

Oh, right. The movie marathon.

Thomas wasn’t really surprised that they continued the marathon without them, though it did make him pause. If they were awake, he didn’t really want to confront them, especially now, during a movie marathon that he’d awkwardly turned down the offer of joining.

But... he really needed his laptop.

So, he slowly pushed the door open.

His eyes immediately landed on his parents, who were squished together on a couch probably too small to fit them all. They were fast asleep, snuggled together and half in  each other's laps.

Virgil. Patton. Roman. Logan.

There was a mostly-empty bowl of popcorn placed at Logan’s feet, and his cane was propped up nearby on the arm of the couch. The volume of the film they were watching had been turned down so it was almost unnoticeable. Though Patton’s snores were so loud they were practically deafening, so Thomas was surprised he hadn’t already awakened any of them.

It took a moment for Thomas to notice that the blanket that had likely covered his parents had slipped to the floor. He walked over to it – stepping slowly and silently so as to not wake an of them up – dodging stray pieces of popcorn, and the bowl in particular.

He picked the blanket off the floor, and slowly and carefully draped it over them. Then, he turned off the TV.

And then Thomas gathered his laptop and left as quickly as he could.

Despite everything, he hoped they all slept well  tonight.


	4. Chapter Three

“You didn’t expect them to just fall right back into the patterns they had as children, did you?” Logan asked, gently stroking his husband’s hair.

Patton huffed miserably. “No!” He paused. “...Yes. I don’t know! It’s just- I didn’t think they’d be so angry. We did what we had to in order to keep them safe. But all they’re doing is rebuffing us at every turn! It- it's been a year since we got them back, and things have been great, but... it’s almost like they don’t even want to be a family anymore.”

“Maybe they don’t,” Virgil mused, leaning against Logan’s other side with a creased brow and a thoughtful expression. “Maybe they got so used to being their own little family, that they don’t need us anymore.”

“I would imagine so,” Logan said gently. “We did leave them for thirteen years, essentially orphaning them a second time. The only reason that the youngest three were not put back into the system is because of Hart and Brian. I... I do not like the distance between us and our children any more than you do, but I can’t say I don’t understand where they’re coming from on this front.”

Patton groaned and put a hand over his face. “Logie, I really didn’t need to hear that. Now I feel awful  _ and  _ guilty.”

Logan clicked his tongue sympathetically and stroked his hair a little more. “Sorry, my love.”

“It’s okay,” Patton sighed.

“You know what would help this?” Roman asked. “A good old-fashioned family kill night!”

Virgil gave him a flat look. “...No. No, I don’t think that’ll help.”

“Oh, come on,” Roman exclaimed, straightening up and grinning at his husbands. “Nothing has ever brought the Sanders family together like murder! A nice kill, maybe even tracking down that Duke, if we can? It sounds like the perfect evening to get the bonding going!”

Virgil ran a hand down his face. “Ro, if they don’t wanna watch a movie with us what makes you think they’ll want to go out killing with us?”

“Ah, but you forget, Nightmare Before Kiss-mas, even without us they continued to kill,” Roman pointed out. “Which means they can’t have  _ no  _ interest in it. It ought to be easy to get them on board, and since this whole ‘Duke killing in Tasks territory’ thing really has to be dealt with, it’s not like we have to  _ tell _ them it’s a bonding experience. It’s perfect! Get work done and put our family back together all at once.”

“I really really really  _ really _ don’t think this is going to work,” Virgil sighed. “But...”

“Yes, but?”

“...But I really miss our kids talking to us,” Virgil admitted softly. “I’m willing to try pretty much anything at this point. And I trust you. If you think this’ll work... then I think we should give it a try.”

Roman and Patton cheered, which was enough to comfort Virgil a little about the situation at hand.

Logan clapped sedately.

***

“So, we have no idea what this person wants or what they’re doing this for?” Emile asked.

"Nope!” Patton confirmed cheerfully. “We just know we have to track this Duke down ‘cause, whoever they are, they’re killing people under Task protection, along with anyone else they feel like, it seems.”

“This is doomed,” Dorian politely informed them. “Do we even have anything resembling a lead?”

“Yes.” Logan held up a small photograph. “This building is where they store security footage for a specific brand of security cameras that is used all over the area. We need to get in and find the footage from the night I found Mr. Richard. If we have time, we should also find the footage from Oliver and Mary’s death. Or – deaths – I suppose.”

“Ugh... so it’s basically just a heist?” Remy asked, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. “Boring!”

Dorian's nose wrinkled and Patton held his hands up placatingly. “It’s not a heist. It’s just a... simple in and out job. We could normally just ask someone to let us in, but no one in the security building owes the Tasks a favor. So, we have to break in and get the information ourselves. If it’s anything, it’s closer to espionage than it is a heist.”

Logan leaned over and kissed Patton on the cheek. “I love it when you explain the difference between similar words.”

Dorian and Remy rolled their eyes. 

“So,  _ anyway _ ,” Dorian said. “Why do we have to come?”

“Well, uh...” Roman glanced around, his eyes landing on Logan’s cane. “I don’t know if you boys have noticed, but your dads are getting a bit old. We’re a bit far removed from spry. We need the extra hands, if we’re going to catch this unorthodox killer. We want to play it safe, you know, as we don’t know what this new Duke is capable of. And there’s no one we trust more than the four of you!”

Dorian mumbled something that Roman couldn’t quite make out, but that sounded similar to wishing they could return the sentiment. It sent an arrow right through Roman’s heart, and doubtless through the hearts of his husbands, as well. But he brushed it off as best he could, refusing to let his pain show on his face. He had to press on, no matter what, or this wouldn’t work. 

He cleared his throat. “You don’t have to,” he said “But we would greatly appreciate the aid.”

Dorian sighed a little, moodily. The four brothers exchanged glances and after a minute of prolonged eye contact before the oldest and youngest of the four – and between the twins as well – Thomas nodded.

“Okay,” he said with an air of finality. “We’ll go with you. But if anything starts to go south, we’re out. I don’t care who in this town is on our side, I’m not risking the police. Not again.”

The group of husbands nodded. Roman winced a little at the implied ‘not losing my family again,’ and hoped that he was the only one who had heard it.

“We wouldn’t dream of putting you back in that position,” he said softly. 

Thomas nodded once more. “Then, we have ourselves an agreement.”

***

That night, at roughly one in the morning, the eight of them were gathered, all cloaked in black and primed for the kill. 

“Are we ready?” Roman asked, his voice low. 

“What’s the plan?” Dorian asked, rather than giving him an answer.

“Go in, get the stuff, get out,” Virgil told him.

“...That’s not a plan.”

“I’ve got a plan,” Remy said, eyeing something near the gate, his hands in his pockets as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll distract that guard and get him into a broom closet, the rest of you get the McGuffin or goober or whatever it is.”

The dad quartet gave him strange looks, taken aback and confused.

“C’mon, I haven’t done it in so long!”

“Really?” Dorian said flatly.

“Well, no, I did  _ that _ , like, yesterday-”

“TMI, Remy.”

Remy waved a hand. “I mean the distraction thingy! It’s the  _ context _ .”

Logan shook his head a little. “You... really don’t have to do that.”

Thomas sighed. “No, let him. If we don’t, he’ll just complain the whole time.”

“He... will?”

“He will.”

“I will!” 

Remy seemed to take that as a green light and gave them all a thumbs up before swanning off to charm the guard into a closet. The husbands looked over at their remaining children incredulously. They looked a mixture of shock, confusion and concern.

“Aren’t you worried he’ll blow our cover? Or the whole operation?” Virgil asked.

Dorian shrugged. “Not really. He’d be more in danger of doing that if we didn’t let him do this.”

Patton blanched. “He... that can’t be safe!”

“He’s got condoms in his pocket.” Emile said blandly. “Pretty much always, I think. Please don’t ask me how I know because I didn’t want to.”

The family turned to watch as Remy effortlessly charmed the guard into his grasp, into the building, and presumably into a closet. Thankfully, they were nowhere near in earshot, as none of them wanted to know what Remy was saying.

“Let’s go,” Emile said when the duo was out of sight. “He hit a switch on the way in and turned off the cameras. It’s safe to go in as long as we aren’t reckless... He’s cleverer than we give him credit for.”

“And more stupid,” Dorian (un)helpfully pointed out. 

Thomas shushed him. The three kids and Patton headed onwards, while Roman stayed behind to match pace with Logan. 

“You don’t need to wait on me, you know,” Logan told him gently.

Roman smiled at him. “I know. I want to.” He paused. “Plus...”

“Plus...?”

Roman swallowed around the lump in his throat, looking at his husband with a sad smile. “I... I haven’t felt this out of place since I was a child. This is our job, both as parents and as Tasks. And yet, it seems more and more like we could have just... stayed home. Like they don’t even need us here. I know it’s not anything personal and that it’s technically our own fault - mine most of all – but is it selfish to wish things were different between us and our children?”

Logan paused and reached over to grasps Roman’s arm gently. 

“We knew ahead of time that this wasn’t going to be a quick solution,” he said softly. “And we will have to face the fact that there is no quick solution. However, we can all still recover and heal. We’ll be alright, in the end. We have to believe that. One day, maybe far away maybe tomorrow, they’ll forgive us. We just have to keep our arms and ears open for them until then.”

Roman gazed at him softly and put his hands over Logan’s. “¿Cuándo te volviste tan listo, mi amor? El hombre con el que me casé por primera vez era horrible con las emociones. Y, sin embargo, aquí estás, tan brillante con corazones como con mentes.”

“Algo que me enseñaron los hombres que amo,” Logan said with a small smile. 

“How can you say that and not expect me to kiss you?” Roman demanded.

Logan chuckled. “My darling, I had every intention of getting you to kiss me.”

Roman grinned and tugged Logan closer by his waist. Their lips met in the middle, as sweet and soft as their wedding and this morning and every kiss in between. 

“Hey!” Dorian popped his head out and frowned at them. If they had been paying attention, perhaps they would have noticed the hints of almost fondness that had crossed his expression for a moment, but they had not. “Stop being old and gay and get a move on. We have a job to do, remember?”

Roman laughed awkwardly. “Right, right, of course! I simply got caught up in the moment.”

Dorian rolled his eyes and went back inside the building, Roman and Logan following a bit faster than they had been before. Roman’s neck felt a little warm, as he realized that what had just happened wasn’t much different than when Emile had been in their closet for hide and seek, when he and Patton had started making out. An event that had happened more than a decade ago, yet the comparison was still enough to make him flush. 

Would their kids  _ ever  _ stop catching them in compromising kissing situations?

They had gotten so used to having no one around to catch them. 

“Okay,” Dorian said, coming to a stop in front of a small room. “This is it. Two of us should stay out here for lookout, but the other should go inside so we don’t attract attention.”

Roman nodded. “I’ll go in. That way Logan and I won’t become... distracted.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow so high that it resembled a very judgmental bridge. “...Good call.”

Roman blushed a little more and slipped inside the door. Inside, his remaining family was hunched over a computer, Emile rapidly clicking the mouse. 

“Oh good, there you are.” Virgil said, coming over to Roman. “I was starting to get worried.”

Roman kissed his hand. “Mi querido, when aren’t you worried?”

Virgil snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“So, what have we found so far?” Roman asked.

Emile frowned. “...Nothing.”

“Come now, I’m sure it’s not-”

“No, I mean literally nothing,” Emile said. “The last thing the cameras see is a large metal object being swung towards them – I can’t tell what it is, but it seems to have a handle, so I think it’s some kind of weapon – and then it’s nothing but static.”

“So, whoever this Duke is knows how to cover their tracks,” Thomas said sourly. “Meaning this trip was a bust.”

“Oh, great,” Virgil groaned. “I love wasting my time. Let’s just find Remy and get out of here.”

Thomas coughed, going a little pink. “Well, uh- why don’t we let him catch up? I don’t think he’ll want to be interrupted. I'll shoot him a text; we shouldn’t wait for him.”

Dorian made a face. “Yuck.”

Roman grimaced. “Ah... Alright then. We’ll just have to find the Duke another day, I suppose.”

They left as swiftly as they came, sending Remy a quick text to update him, which he apparently didn’t read. Emile volunteered to stay behind for him, and everyone else... went home: the brothers to separate places, though they were all only a short walk apart.

They left knowing nothing more about the Duke, and in the case of four very sad parents: nothing more about their children, either...


	5. Chapter Four

The scream was music to the Duke’s ears.

The crunch of a smashed skull, and the squelches of splattered brain and spilling blood were music to his ears, too. Always a delight: a tune he’d heard so often, and for so many years, that the familiarity he always felt had long since melted into feelings of pleasure.

His morning-star was a solid, heavy weight in his hands. He loved the feeling of holding it, of lifting it above his head and swinging it down, crashing it into a skull and smashing it to pieces, making a delicious mess of the place.  Green was his favourite colour, but the red of a job well done always filled him to the brim with pride.

The screams always ended too quickly, but the Duke had never been one to go slowly. And, besides, he preferred to play around with the bodies when they were already dead. Not in a sexual way, there was just always more fun to be had with them after the kill.

Things were always more complicated when the person was still alive. Harder...

Once the head was a mangled mess – with barely anything exposed that hadn’t been painted shiny red – the Duke dropped to his knees beside the body. He placed his morning-star on the ground beside him  (the only thing he ever did carefully, as this was his most prized possession, and he hardly wanted to damage it) and then pulled his duffle bag closer to his side. It was blood-and-brain-stained, though the Duke didn’t particularly care.

He brought out his tools and began by tearing open the victim’s shirt. Then, he got to work slicing through her skin, and prying open her ribcage.

He pulled out her heart, and weighed it in his hand, coating his thick gloves with a bright, glistening red blood. It dripped down his sleeves, spilling over his black and green clothes, though the mess always delighted him.

A blood-splattered costume was always an indication of a job well done.

The Duke wiped the heart on a clean section of his clothing, and then stuffed it into his duffel bag without a second thought.

He then took out the wallet he’d taken from his victim, and pulled out the first piece of identification that he could find. He pulled out a black marker pen, too, and messily scribbled out every single part of it, except for her first name: Anne.

He’d done this for his last three victims, too.

Richard. Oliver. Mary.

And now, Anne.

He’d locked the door to the room he was in behind him after he’d broken in, so he had plenty of time to work without interruption.  After all, t hat was the secret to a job well done. 

Once he was done with the ID card, he carefully placed it face-up on the victim’s open palm. He then stood up and placed his hands on his hips as he admired his handiwork. A few strands of his hair fell into his face, and accidentally smeared blood across his own forehead as he brushed it back.

He blinked, and then looked down at his blood-stained gloves.

The Duke immediately had the urge to lick the blood off his hand, but he resisted the impulse. He had done that before and had found that it didn’t taste the greatest. A little too metallic, though that was far from the worst thing he’d ever tasted.

He took a moment, staring at his hand, and then turning back to the body.

Perhaps he should have mangled it more? Crush the feet, remove the hands, or steal more organs through the gaping hole in her chest. Maybe take out the stomach and-

The Duke shook his head in response to his own thoughts. 

No, it was better to keep things simple. Back to the job, back to the job. Keep it simple and do the job well. 

He leant down again, searching through his bag again, until he found his neon green spray-paint, and he pulled it out and brandished it with a grin.

Then, he scrawled ‘the Duke’ across the wall in large, messy letters.

He was tempted to add the word ‘real’, and make it spell out ‘the  _ real  _ Duke’ but decided against it after a moment’s thought. If he was  _ going  _ to stick to his plans, he could build up their rivalry another time. He had to build up the suspense, first.

And – besides – the other Duke may have been the more famous one, but he wasn’t the one who had been around longest. And he  _ certainly  _ wasn’t the superior one.

The Duke leant back with a grin, yet again admiring his handiwork.

He had to admit,  _ this  _ was a job well done. Possibly even his best work!

And then, he left, making sure to open all of the windows on the way out – smearing blood across the glass and handles – and leaving the door open, too.

It would be better for the body to be found fresh.

***

According to the Duke’s intel, the body had been found two hours after death, and the information had gotten to the Tasks just over half an hour after that. They had sent Roman and one of the two husbands that the Duke hadn’t cared to learn the name of to examine the scene.

Apparently, they liked to do things themselves, which the Duke could  almost  respect.

He watched from his perch on an opposite roof, using binoculars as he lay flat on his stomach, kicking his legs in the air.

Through the window, the Duke could see that Roman was stood at one side of the room, while the husband was at the other, speaking to him with a creased brow. The Duke had no idea what they were saying, but they gestured around the room as they spoke – at the blood splatters that covered the carpet and walls, windows and door.

They seemed worried, and at a complete loss for what to do, and it made the Duke grin and wiggle excitedly.

Oh, he couldn’t wait for the moment that they figured him out!

But, until then, he was having  _ so  _ much fun.

Such  _ delicious  _ fun.

The couple stayed in the room for a while, talking and exploring and examining things, and the Duke had grown bored by the time that they left the room. He waited in his hiding spot, switching to sitting cross-legged, a drumming his fingers against his knee.

And when the couple walked out of the building’s entrance again, the Duke straightened up.

But instead of doing something interesting – aka: anything the Duke would have actually liked to watch, like murder or at least a little threatening and maiming – they just stood there. Talking. At one point, Roman took his purple husband’s hand in his own, pressing a gentle kiss to the knuckle with a look best described as heart-eyes, and the Duke’s nose wrinkled.

Roman and his husbands were far,  _ far  _ too sappy for the Duke’s taste. For experienced killers, they sure were sweet and affectionate with each other, and practically every second of every day, too.

If this was a tactic to disgust and annoy stalkers into giving up, it sure was almost working.

But the Duke was far too determined to give up over such a small thing like  _ flirting _ .

However, he was just about ready to give up out of boredom- instead- when someone turned a corner at the end of the street, and quickly approached Roman and the husband. They both turned to him in unison, and the Duke perked up when he recognised him, too.

Remy Sanders.

One of Roman’s sons, and by far the most fun of the four.

The Duke had followed him multiple times and had found him far more entertaining to observe than any of his brothers. He killed the most, and he clearly had the best time with it. He had even almost caught the Duke stalking him, once or twice, and that just made it  _ exciting. _

He watched closely as the trio spoke for a few more minutes, and then climbed into a nearby car, driving off and leaving a  pouting Duke behind.

He was smart enough to know that following the Sanders family back to their houses would be a mistake. Going that deep into the Task territory would only get him caught, and he wasn’t ready for that just yet.

Ah well, the Duke had other things to do, anyway. He could continue his fun another time.


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT:
> 
> There is a character using the alias Anxiety in this chapter: this is Sanders Shorts Anxiety, not Virgil, and his name is Pan instead of the more popular Andy.

To say that Remy was simmering with rage would be an understatement. It was more like he was a pot of boiling water, spilling over the edges and onto anyone who dared think he was safe enough to get close to. He wasn’t even totally sure what he was angry at, but it clung to him, lingering in his stomach like a rock and sticking to him like spiderwebs.

He had snapped at Dorian earlier – which wasn’t unusual, especially as his younger brother often snapped back – and had been damn close to snapping at Emile, too, though he’d bitten his tongue and walked away before any venomous words could have slipped out.

There was only ever one cure for his anger: one vital thing that always made him feel better and relieved the pit in his stomach every time, without fail. 

A good old-fashioned murder.

There was just... one little snag. Everyone in  town was under Tasks’ protection, meaning he couldn’t just kill whomever he pleased. To do that, he had to go one city over, which was not only a nightmare of a travel but also  _ technically  _ someone else’s territory. 

But Remy had never really cared about that sort of thing, and he was never one to ask for permission from family, either. That was why he was all too happy to let Thomas be the one trained as heir, the future leader of the gang. In fact, territory hardly mattered at all to Remy, and it would have continued meaning hardly anything to him if it weren’t for just one small detail. 

Anxiety.

Not the disorder, but Remy’s self-proclaimed rival, the one he’d given that nickname himself. The only person he’d ever met – outside of family, of course – who at all matched him in sheer skill. 

It was infuriating, but Remy wasn’t about to let some freak in a dark hoodie and a cheap mask keep him from doing what he loved. No one was going to stand between him and sinking his knife into the most deserving person he could find.

***

An hour and a half later, Remy was eating his words. Anxiety was standing over his chosen target, blade wet with blood, sex offender wheezing as red spilled from his neck like thick, sticky ink.

“That’s  _ it _ !” Remy snapped.

He drew his arm back and snapped it forwards, throwing a knife. It caught on Anxiety’s hood and he lurched backwards, now pinned to the wall by his stupid black hoodie.

“Sleep,” his gravelly voice growled from under the mask.

Remy’s rival, Anxiety, was short – even shorter than Dorian, which was a rarity in Remy’s eyes – but that didn’t stop him for staring Remy down like he was the tallest, most intimidating man in the world.

“Anxiety,” Remy snapped back. “You’ve taken my prey yet again!”

Anxiety’s dark eyes rolled beneath the flimsy scrap of plastic that barely hid his identity. “He wasn’t yours. Last I checked, you didn’t own the people in this area. Or did you forget that little tidbit while you were getting your head pumped with hot air?”

“HOT AIR?” Remy exclaimed. “Babe, I will have you know I’m as cool as a fucking cucumber!”

“I’m not your babe,” Anxiety said lightly, reaching back to take the knife out of his hood and flipping it once in his hand. “I’m not anyone’s babe.”

Remy scoffed. “Oh what _ ever _ ! You still took my kill!”

“It was  _ not _ your kill.  Finder’s keepers, after all. Or should I say finder’s killers?”

Remy growled. “I think you should say you’re a dirty rotten crook who keeps taking my kills.” 

“They still aren’t yours,” Anxiety said, with a smug, teasing grin. “But if you want to catch them next time then you better step it up, pretty boy. I’m not playing in amateur hour here. This is the big boy leagues.”

“I am the biggest boy there is!”

Anxiety’s eyes flitted up and down his body, before he snorted and raised his eyebrows. “...Whatever you say,  gorby .”

Remy furrowed his brow. It must have been some kind of Canadian word. An insult, probably. Even after living there for almost a year, he still didn’t understand all the slang here. It wasn’t like he spent much time talking with the locals outside of looking for lonely strangers to take into his bed.

He was offended, anyway.

“I am  _ not _ ... whatever that thing you said is,” Remy snapped. 

Anxiety clicked his tongue. “And no brain, either, it seems. Pity. You’ve just almost got the looks to make up for it. Almost.”

Remy felt his face warm under his own mask. He huffed, crossing his arms and giving Anxiety his best glare. “Excuse you! I am  _ more  _ than pretty enough to make up for it!” He paused, going over his own words in his head, before adding: “ _ And I do have a brain _ !”

“Maybe in a jar on your shelf,” Anxiety snickered, covering his mouth with his hand and leaning back against the brick wall. “The only way I can see someone like you having a brain.”

_ “Someone like me?” _ Remy exclaimed. “What is  _ that  _ supposed to mean?”

Anxiety was in his face in an instant. Remy immediately had the instinct to either take a step back and move even closer, but decided that neither sounded like good ideas.  It was q uite the feat for a guy so short – Remy towered over him even more than he stood over Dorian. Remy wasn’t exactly a tall person, but he was nothing to sneeze at either. So, someone barely scraping five feet getting in his face was... intimidatingly impressive. It was having an effect on Remy that – frankly – he wasn’t ready to deal with.

From this angle... Anxiety was  _ hot. _

“What I mean,” Anxiety purred, voice low. “Is that as soft as that hair looks, I doubt there’s anything but fluff underneath it. Those big brown eyes just look like they’ve got elevator music behind them.”

Remy’s face got warmer and he finally shoved Anxiety backwards.

“There’s a fair bit more than elevator music,” he sniffed. “I’ve got more blood on my hands than a short little fuck like you could see in a lifetime.”

“I’m not that short!” Anxiety exclaimed. “Besides. You haven’t been here that long. You have no idea how much bloodshed I’ve seen. 'Cos believe me, it’s a  _ lot _ .” 

Remy just laughed, shoving his hands and leaning back. “Yeah, I’ll bet. But there’s not a soul who can catch up to my body count.”

“I can catch up if I keep stealing your kills.”

“So, you admit you’re stealing them, then?”

“I do not because I am  _ not _ !”

“A likely story!” Remy reached over and flicked the nose of Anxiety’s mask. “You’re stealing all my intel and stealing all my kills!”

“I couldn’t possibly be stealing all your kills ‘cos I doubt we’re looking for the same thing in targets.”

“Oh?” Remy challenged. “Just what are you looking for in targets?”

Anxiety smiled so widely that his eyes visibly crinkled behind the mask. “The biggest paycheck on the streets.”

Remy blinked. 

“Oh? Surprised?” Anxiety hummed playfully. “What is it you look for, then?”

“I look for anyone who uses others for their own selfish gain. The kinds of shitty people who get what’s coming to them.”

Anxiety snorted. “Oh. So, it’s Robin Hood versus Batman? Or are you more of a Red Hood sort?”

“...Red Hood. Jason Todd is hot.”

Anxiety snorted. “Oh, you think  you’re real hot stuff, huh?”

“I don’t hear you disagreeing.”

“Well, maybe that’s ‘cos not everyone talks through their ass like you do,” Anxiety snickered. 

“Yeah, but who of the two of us was the first to call me pretty tonight?” 

“...fuck.”

Remy cackled, taking his hands out of his pockets and clapping once triumphantly. “Ha! That’s what I thought! See? It’s not just me talking out of my ass, you  _ do _ want a piece of this ass!”

“I do not!” 

“You do! Anxiety has a little crush on Sleep!”

“I do  _ not _ ! I hate your guts!”

“Me thinks thou dost protest too much,” Remy gloated, sticking his tongue out. “But don’t worry. As the object of your pounding heart I’ll let you get away with this kill. But don’t think I’ll take it easy on you next time. Next time my knife is going into your arm, not your hood.”

In the back of Remy’s head, he knew that what he was bullshit – not that he’d ever admit that aloud.

Anxiety snorted. “Hard to put it in me when I never gave it back.”

He held up the knife and darted out of range just as Remy reached out to snatch it away. He laughed mischievously and Remy’s  heart slammed against his ribcage in response. Anxiety winced  oddly  for just a moment, but he recovered quickly and leapt away.

“You know I have other knives, right?”

“But not this one,” Anxiety said, waving the knife around in the air.

“...I’ll take it off you next time,” Remy scowled. 

“We’ll see.”

Remy growled at him one more time before turning on his heel and finally leaving, dramatically storming off in a huff. He made sure Anxiety didn’t follow him, but he didn’t even try. He never did, and neither did Remy, that wasn’t how their little game of sorts worked.

Whatever Anxiety was doing – whatever plans he had, whatever reason he had for stealing so many of Remy’s kills so often – he was going to stop that guy and make him knock it off. But not tonight. Tonight, he was going to find another victim and stick one of his very many other knives into some dastardly person who deserved.

But he would do this – he would gain victory over Anxiety – no matter how long it took.

And no matter what his stupid face was heating up for.


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a character named Gavyn in this chapter, he is completely unrelated to the real person named Gavin that Thomas Sanders knows in real life, the name is just a coincidence.

Thomas was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice that he’d passed the building that he was supposed to enter until he was already at the end of the street. He managed to stop himself before he could walk into the street – and probably get hit by a car, knowing his luck. He finally snapped out of his swirling, unconnected thoughts about murder and family and new friends (and the butterflies in his stomach that fluttered whenever  _ those two _ __ looked his way), though he did his best to shut down and ignore that last part.

He huffed when he realised that he’d walked right past his destination, pulling an irritated face at himself, before he turned around and swiftly moved to the building he was  _ actually  _ supposed to enter.

He stopped in front of the small pizza place, glancing at the door to confirm that it was long past closing time, though the lights were all still on, meaning that there hopefully wouldn’t be any customers inside: just the two people he needed (wanted) to talk to.

Thomas pushed the door open, and the two men inside both immediately looked up at him in unison. One was white, short, round and bearded, wearing a grumpy expression that he’d had almost every time Thomas had seen him, though it was impossible not to notice the fondness in his eyes when he looked at the man stood beside him. And the other was taller and slimmer, almost as tall as Thomas, and wearing an absolutely  _ atrocious  _ outfit, with clashing colours and different shoes that absolutely did not match. His clothes were terrible, but also delightfully amusing to look at.

“Hey, Thomas!” The second, Ray, greeted. “How’s your day going?”

Before Thomas could saying anything in response to that, the other man –  Gavyn – spoke up in a gruff, grumpy voice.

“You’re late,” he said, in a gruff voice, instead of simply greeting Thomas

Ray snorted, turning to  Gavyn with a teasingly chastising look. He raised his eyebrows at his boyfriend, looking amused, and  Gavyn huffed, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. Thomas almost felt left out as he watched the short, silent conversation in front of him, but then both  Gavyn and Ray turned back to him.

Thomas gave them a slightly sheepish smile. “Sorry, I got distracted. Hope it didn’t inconvenience you two too much.”

“You’re fine,” Ray smiled. “We don’t mind waiting if it’s for you. The rest of the staff have gone home, so it’s just us here. We can talk freely about anything you like.”

He leant forward, placing his elbows on the counter and resting his chin in his hands. He continued to smile at Thomas, friendly and open, and Thomas chose to ignore the funny feeling in his chest that blossomed at that.  Gavyn ’s eyes were on Ray, before they flicked back to Thomas.

“You got any more information about that Duke fellow?”  Gavyn asked.

Thomas straightened up. “He killed again,” he said. “Some lady named Anne, in basically the same way as all the rest – head smashed in, heart stolen and with an ID card with everything scribbled out but her first name. And his alias was painted on the wall again, too.”

“Oh, poor thing,” Ray said, frowning. “If she was innocent, I hope it was at least quick.”

“Was she under Task protection?”  Gavyn asked.

“Think so,” Thomas nodded. “And she didn’t do anything to deserve it, either. Nothing cruel, and nothing that would’ve interfered with any of our kind of business. We haven’t figured out why he killed her – she has no connection to any of the other victims – so we think it might just be random. I guess the Duke doesn’t have any of our standards.”

Ray hummed, nodding slowly. “Any leads?”

“Nope,” Thomas said. “We haven’t found anything yet. This guy knows what he’s doing.”

“Hmm...” Ray drummed the fingers of his right hand on the counter. “Have you looked into what they’re doing with the hearts? There might be something there.”

Thomas blinked. “I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you,” he responded earnestly.

Ray smiled at him again, cheerful and friendly, returning his chin to his hand and making Thomas feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Gavyn coughed, clearing his throat and drawing all attention back to him.

“We haven’t heard anything on our end,” he said. “But we’ll keep an ear out.”

“Thanks,” Thomas said again, giving  Gavyn a grateful and friendly smile.

For a moment, Thomas could have sworn that  Gavyn had seemed flustered by the gratitude, but it was gone the moment it appeared, and had seemed wildly out of character, so Thomas thought he had just imagined it. He brushed away the feeling.

“Oh!” Ray’s expression brightened, and he straightened up. “I bought a new scarf yesterday,  wanna see?”

“Sure!” Thomas responded.

Ray grinned at him again, before he disappeared into the back room, leaving just Thomas and  Gavyn alone in the room together.

For a moment, there was a slightly awkward silence, before Thomas decided to speak up again.

“Hey, I like the flannel,” he commented, gesturing at  Gavyn ’s clothes. “Is that one new?”

Gavyn looked down at his shirt, before looking back at Thomas, looking a little surprised, before he masked it with his usual gruff expression. This time, though, Thomas was not fooled, and he smiled slightly in response.

“Oh, yes. It is.”

“It’s good, I like it.”

“Oh, uh... thank you.”

Then, Ray stepped back into the room, brandishing a brightly-coloured, orange and purple scarf in his hands.

“Look! It goes well with my shirt.”

It did not – the colours clashing like Ray’s clothing already were and always did – but that was just part of Ray’s charm.

“It suits you,”  Gavyn said gruffly. 

He seemed to have wanted to say something else as well, stopping himself just in time to keep the word from slipping from his lips, but Thomas had already overheard him calling Ray ‘Sunshine’ before, so he was not fooled by  Gavyn omitting the nickname just this once.

“Aww, teddy-bear,” Ray cooed.

Gavyn spluttered. “ Wha \-  _ you can’t call me that in front of Thomas _ ,” he leant in and hissed with a reddening face.

Both he and Ray glanced at Thomas, who was hiding a laugh behind his hand.

“What? I know you said not to say it in front of people, but Thomas doesn’t count, right?” Ray teased, his gaze moving to look at  Gavyn again.

Gavyn huffed, crossing his arms, but he didn’t argue with Ray.

Ray turned back to Thomas again, smiling at him. He looked like he was going to say something, before he seemed to have a realisation, his eyes flicking between Thomas and the scarf, and he seemed to suddenly get an idea.

He lifted the scarf.

“ You know, I think this scarf might loo k better o n y ou,” Ray commented.

Thomas wanted to respond, with  mostly confusion, as he absolutely did not think the scarf would  suit his outfit. It was bright and colourful, though, and Thomas did honestly like it on Ray , as  his fashion sense remained just a part of his charm.

He did not have time to respond, though, before Ray reached forward and cheerfully  draped the scarf around Thomas’s neck, stepping in close  as he kept one hand on each end of the scarf.

“See! You look great,” Ray said. He then glanced over to  Gavyn , giving him a look with a mischievous light in his eyes. “Don’t you agree?”

Gavyn ’s expression was a strange mixture of confusion, exasperation and a slight warning look that Thomas honestly couldn’t understand. Even more amusement formed on Ray’s face, and  Gavyn coughed, looking away.

“You look... fine, Thomas,” he admitted.

“Thank... you?” Thomas said,  in a confused, questioning tone of voice. After a beat, he continued with: “Well, I, uh... I should probably go.”

Both Ray and  Gavyn seemed disappointed when he said that, though the latter did his best to hide it.

“Aww,” Ray said.  “But come back soon, okay? ”

“Of course.”

“And you have our numbers, right?”

“Uh... yeah! I think so.”

“Good,” Ray smiled, before he leant forward again and winked, as he still held onto he scarf that was still draped around Thomas’s neck. “Use them.”

Thomas laughed awkwardly, hoping  in his head that it wouldn’t come off as uncomfortable – which he certainly  was not – or embarrassed and flustered, which he would not admit aloud that he was.

“Yeah, that’s- I will.” Thomas  said. He then looked down at himself and the scarf. “Here, have this back.”

He took a step back, and Ray let him go immediately, dropping the ends of the scarf. Ray held his hand out as Thomas took the scarf off, before he dropped it back into Ray’s hand.

“Good luck with the Duke,”  Gavyn said.

Thomas blinked, surprised, before he turned and smiled genuinely at  Gavyn .

“Thanks.”

And then the trio said their goodbyes, and when Thomas finally stepped back out of the building, he felt... disappointed. He glanced back over his shoulder for a moment – through the window, at  Gavyn and Ray who had turned and began to talk to each other.

Thomas already missed talking to them and wanted to  turn back and join them again.

Instead, he ignored the feeling, and walked off quickly before he could change his mind.

***

The moment that Thomas left the building,  Gavyn ’s head snapped towards Ray, who immediately turned to look back at him, too.

“What was that?”  Gavyn hissed.

“What was what?” Remy responded, in an obviously faux-innocent look.

“You know, the- the-”

“The flirting?”

“Yes! The flirting! That was  _ not _ part of the plan.”

“The plan?” Ray questioned, and at this point  Gavyn knew he was teasing him.

Gavyn huffed, crossing his arms. “Yes, the plan. No flirting until we know for sure how he feels.”

“Okay...” Ray nodded slowly. “But  how are we supposed to know how he feels if we don’t pursue him ? If we flirt with him, we’ll be able to test the waters and see if he wants to flirt back.”

“But if he doesn’t, it would be  _ awkward _ .”

Ray hummed. He leant back against the counter, fiddling with and looking at the scarf still in his hands. “Well, there is one way to know for sure.”

“And that is?”

Ray turned back to  Gavyn with an amused expression. “We could just  _ ask  _ him.”

Gavyn blinked, and then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Ray,” he said slowly. “I love you, but that is a ridiculous idea.”

“Aww, you love me?”

Gavyn ’s face began to turn red, and Ray’s smile widened in response. He turned around, and immediately draped the scarf around  Gavyn ’s neck, tugging gently at the ends.  Gavyn stumbled forward and was suddenly close enough that Ray could very easily kiss him, which was the intention.

“It’s okay,” Ray said. “I won’t tease you, you say it enough to me, anyway.”

***

Thomas sighed as he unlocked the door to his parents’ house. He and his brothers were always welcome there, according to the dads, which Thomas had no problem believing. It didn’t mean it felt like home, though, and there was always that little thought of ‘you don’t belong here’ that played in the back of his mind whenever he got close to the house or any of his dads.

He pushed the thought down, doing his best to suppress the discomfort as he stepped inside, shut the door and pocketed the key. 

Thomas barely had the chance to take a step forward before Patton appeared in the doorway to the living room in front of him. Patton smiled immediately upon noticing Thomas, which Thomas almost found comforting.

“You’re home!” Patton smiled.

Thomas didn’t visibly react at the mention of the word ‘home’ but it was close.

“I am,” Thomas said. “ Gavyn and Ray didn’t have any information about the Duke, though. But they did recommend looking more into the hearts route, so I think that’s what I’ll be doing next.”

“Good, good,” Patton nodded. “So, how are you doing?”

“Um... alright.”

“Good, that’s good. And-” Patton cut himself off with a large yawn, which immediately drew Thomas’s attention.

His brow creased. “Are you okay?”

“Just tired, kiddo,” Patton said, giving Thomas a slight, tired smile.

“Have you been getting enough sleep?”

“Um... well, I did have some trouble sleeping last night, but I’m alright. Nothing to worry about, kiddo. I’m sure I’ll sleep better –  _ bed _ - ter – tonight!”

Thomas snorted at the pun but couldn’t help the concern that lingered in his expression.

“You really ought to turn in or nap or something. You need rest.”

Patton chuckled lightly. “I’m just a little worn out. I really am okay, kiddo.”

Thomas wasn’t sure how much he believed that. But he let it go. 

“Okay... I just needed to grab something from your kitchen and then I’m headed home,” he said. 

Patton’s face fell a little. “Oh,” He said, before pausing for a moment. “Are you sure? You’re welcome to stay.”

Thomas held back a wince. “Yeah. I need some rest myself.”

“...Okay. Sleep well kiddo.”

“Yeah... you, too.”


	8. Chapter Seven

“I’m just saying-”

“ Well, stop saying!” Dorian snapped. “I’m not doing it and that’s the end of it!”

“I just think if you got back out there...” Remy shrugged, leaning back. “Dunno. You may find something you like.”

“Remy!” Dorian closed his laptop hard enough that he was briefly worried about the glass, before the annoyance at his brother took hold once more. “I am  _ not  _ going out drinking with you, and then going on a kill spree right after, just so you can prove to your insipid little hate-crush that you’re a better killer than he is!”

Remy had the gall to look offended. “It’s not a hate-crush! Just 'cos he’s hot in a certain pose and certain lighting doesn’t mean he’s  hot _ all  _ the time. Plus, he’s, like, SUPER annoying. I just hate him, there’s no crush. No crush. Nope, not at all.” 

“Me thinks thou dost protest too much,” Dorian said, leaning back and raising his eyebrows at his brother, amusement temporarily taking over instead of the annoyance. 

“Evidently not enough,” Remy muttered before turning his puppy eyes back to Dorian: an expression on his face that rarely worked, though that didn’t mean he stopped trying. “But, please, please, please? I’d take Emile or Thomas, but they always want, like,  _ reasons  _ for stuff and I don’t feel like giving an essay on all the research I’ve already done, you know? C’mon! Can’t I just take my favourite little brother out for a night?”

Dorian squinted up at him. “...Aren’t you fifteen minutes older than Emile?”

Remy paused. “...I think birth mom forgot to write it down, why?”

“Because  _ clearly _ your twin would be more of a  favourite than I am.” Dorian rolled his eyes. 

“Not true! He doesn’t count as a younger brother ‘cos we were made at, like, the same time or whatever.  _ Anyway _ !” Remy took a deep breath. “Look, we’ll go a few towns over to where the marks are, I’ll buy you whatever booze you want and we’ll hit a couple easy kills and come home and be done with it. Just an easy Sunday night, ‘kay?”

“If it’s an ‘easy Sunday night,’ then why do you need my help – or, really, any help at all? I thought you were the master craftsman of killing,” Dorian asked. 

Remy sighed. “‘Cos, well... Thomas is doing that super worried thing where he pokes into all my business and questions all of it. And I have a feeling if I bring a buddy along on this field trip he’ll ease up. I mean, you know what he’s like. And since the other two are such goody two shoes about everything... well, you’re good at killing people when you want to.”

Dorian snorted. “Gee, thanks,” he said flatly. “I’m so encouraged to help you, right now.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Remy huffed. “I just need an extra hand. C’mon, I’ll owe you.”

“I’m not really in a spot where I need one of your favours.” Dorian said with a small hum, his expression returning to amusement. It was always nice to have something over Remy. “What else you got up those sleeves?”

Remy pursed his lips a little. “...Tell you what. I’ll sweeten the pot with a bet.”

“Oh, boy, you really do know what a guy wants,” Dorian said dryly.

“Hush up and hear me out,” Remy huffed. “So, we’ve both got guys the other  _ insists  _ we like that we insist we don’t, right? Even though you’re totally wrong and I’m totally right. Well, whoever gets less finishing blows tonight has to ask out the guy they’re totally-not-crushing-on.”

Dorian arched an eyebrow at him. “You want to make a bet about who can kill more and made the loser ask someone out? What, are we sixteen again?”

“Bitch, I’m trying to bond here!”

Dorian held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll agree to these  _ incredibly  _ immature terms, just to shut you up. But you’re still buying the drinks and I don’t intend to be cheap.”

Remy rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t expect you to.”

Remy then grinned triumphantly at his brother, and Dorian immediately regretted agreeing to anything.

***

Thirteen corpses later, and Dorian had lost.

The zoo wasn’t open at such a late time of night, meaning that Dorian had to get there first thing the next morning instead. 

He forced Remy to buy the tickets to the zoo, instead of purchasing them himself. If he had to do this, then he wasn’t spending the frankly ludicrous amount of money to do so. Remy had done so happily and without complaint, and smugly enough that Dorian was scowling the whole time.

Dorian could certainly afford the price of the zoo’s tickets – and he had at least a dozen times in the past, for the reptile exhibit, of course, and nothing else – but that was not the point of it.

He’d lost the bet, but he was not about to lose his dignity. Nor was he about to lose twenty dollars and change just because of said bet. 

Dorian took a deep breath – hesitating for a moment as people and families passed him and entered the zoo, whilst chattering cheerfully amongst themselves – and then, finally, walked in.

The reptile exhibit was his favourite part of any zoo. He couldn’t help it; he’d had a thing for snakes since he was a kid. Well, really since his father had taken him through IKEA as a three-year-old and gotten him a stuffed snake twice the length of his baby self, though his memory of that moment was fuzzy at best. 

That would endear an animal to anyone. The Carlton Sons Zoo, though... that was something else. 

It was homespun and cosy. As cosy as a place lined with glass containers could be. The lighting was just dim enough to see the clearly, but not so bright that it was eye searing. It felt homey and warm even though it was built for animal comfort, not human. The snakes and amphibians and other scaled and webbed beasties were long past the point of caring when someone unfamiliar was around. 

Dorian liked that about them. They were only concerned with their business and their handler. Which, honestly? Dorian couldn’t blame them. He liked their handler, too, and he wasn’t the one lovingly being fed mice by him. 

He was always there, too. Anytime Dorian came to visit. 

Matt was always there. 

Today and last time and all the times before that. In his cheesy discount-Steve-Irwin outfit, staring compassionately at the animals even when he was supposed to be doing something else, and caring for them as if they held all the secrets of the universe. 

...God, Dorian had never wanted to be a snake more.

He cleared his throat once he had approached the  zookeeper , startling Matt and making him jump. He looked up, and his eyes lit up just a little when they landed on Dorian.

Dorian didn’t want to find him cute, it almost felt like a betrayal to Nate whenever his heart skipped a beat around Matt. But, well... he hadn’t seen Nate in a year, and though his love for him had certainly never faded, Dorian had liked multiple people at once before.

Perhaps he took after his dads in that sense, though he had never once done anything about it. Hell, Nate was the only proper long-term boyfriend he had ever had, and certainly the only one he had ever loved.

Dorian pushed the complicated feelings down and looked back at Matt. Not in the eyes- because Matt had wordlessly communicated that he’d rather be burned alive than make eye contact with anyone without scales- but enough in the face that it could be called friendly.

“Oh! Mr. Sanders, you’re back again!” Matt said cheerfully, still holding the boomslang snake as if it were a friendly jump rope.

Dorian smiled  pleasantly . “I am.”

“Just couldn’t stay away, huh?” He teased. “You miss Mille here that much?”

Dorian laughed. “Not exactly. I-”

“Oh, I know, I know.” Matt winked. “Hector is your  favourite , right? You couldn’t tear yourself away from the cobra habitat last time!” 

Dorian forced down a blush. It was less the cobras and more the one feeding them, but he wasn’t about to say that aloud.

“Actually, uh. I’m here for you,” He said nervously. “I mean. It’s so rare that I meet anyone who shares in my passion for all things scaled that I was wondering if... maybe, we could talk about them sometime?”

Matt giggled, and Dorian’s heart skipped a beat.

“We are talking about them, you goof.”

“No- well, yes, but I meant...” Dorian hesitated, cringing internally at his own failed flirtations. This had been so much easier with Nate, as the other man had flirted with him first. “Somewhere outside of... where... you work.” 

Dorian cringed internally. This was Matt’s place of work. He was at  _ work _ . He was at work and Dorian was hitting on him. He was at work and Dorian was hitting on him because he’d lost a bet to his older brother!  _ What the hell was he doing? _

All at once, Dorian regretted everything that had led up to this moment. 

Matt hummed, pulling Dorian out of his spiral, but seeming completely unaware of his own talent at doing that. Gentle as a dove, he set the snake back in her habitat so he could tap his chin the way he did to show he was thinking. 

“I don’t really think I have any free time anytime soon,” Matt said apologetically. “Sorry, but between work and family I just can’t get away. You seem fun to hang out with, though! I’d love if we could be friends anyway! We can hang out another time, though.”

He smiled at Dorian – gentle and apologetic.

_ Friends. _

On the plus side, it seemed like Matt had had no idea what Dorian had meant. On the minus side,  _ Matt had had no idea what Dorian had meant.  _ Which...  _ ouch.  _

But, hey, it was fine. Dorian didn’t want to be That Guy anyway, so, whatever, right? 

Besides, he didn’t  _ actually _ have a crush on this guy, that was just Remy being a douche and running his mouth.  So. .. no loss. Right?

He gave Matt a pained smile, doing his best to make the smile less obviously disappointed. 

“Of course. Let me know if you stumble into any free time.”

“Gladly!” Matt gave him a sunny grin that felt like it was  piercing right through Dorian’s heart. 

He cleared his throat again. “Well... I just came to ask you that.” He paused for a moment, searching for the right words that he could not find. Instead, he decided to say: “If you’ll excuse me, I promised my brother I’d take photos of the penguins.”

A blatant lie, but Matt didn’t seem to notice. He let Dorian go with a cheerful goodbye and another sunny smile. As soon as Dorian was out of sight, he leant back against a wall, tipping his head back to stare at the swirling patterns on the ceiling and he tried to catch his breath and calm his nerves. 

Friends.

...Yeah, okay. 

They could be friends. Friends are good. Heaven knows he didn’t have enough of them. He hardly spoke to anyone outside of family or the family business.

Friends. 

That’s fine.

Dorian didn’t have the best track record when it came to relationships, anyway.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a character using the alias Anxiety in this chapter: this is Sanders Shorts Anxiety, not Virgil, and his name is Pan instead of the more popular Andy

“What the hell are you doing here, Anxiety?” Remy hissed as he ducked into Anxiety’s hiding space, crossing his arms and scowling at him.

This had to be the millionth time he’d ran into his rival like this. Anxiety just kept showing up in the same places Remy went to! It was annoying, and it was even more annoying that Anxiety kept making him feel all sorts of things that he absolutely did  _ not  _ want to feel.

And, of course, Remy’s brothers had started to pick up on that, which was  _ even more  _ annoying.

Well, at least Remy would finally have the chance to get his knife back.

“I don’t know,” Anxiety snapped back, keeping his voice down, too, and looking incredibly irritated by Remy’s arrival. He looked him up and down once. “What are  _ you  _ doing here, Sleep?”

“Uh, I’m hunting down my next victim, obviously.” Remy flipped the knife he held in his hand.

Anxiety rolled his eyes. “Right, right,  _ obviously _ . Well, can you go do that somewhere else? I have shit to do here.”

Remy made an offended sound. “Excuse me? Why can’t  _ you  _ go somewhere else?”

“I got here first!”

“Well, I got here second!”

Anxiety huffed, crossing his arms and glaring at Remy. “And ‘cos my victim’s just about to arrive, dumbass,” he said. “Now, shoo. I have work to do.”

Anxiety made a shooing gesture with both hands to accompany his words, and Remy made another offended noise, looking down at the hands and then back at Anxiety’s face with an equally offended expression on his face. He pointed his knife at Anxiety, even though he had no intention of ever actually stabbing him.

“Excuse me?” He exclaimed loudly. “My victim’s about to arrive, too! You can’t make me leave!”

“Shh! Be quiet!” Anxiety hissed. “Do you know nothing about stealth?”

“Bitch! I know  _ everything  _ about stealth.”

“ _ Clearly  _ not. You- shh!”

“What?! Don’t you shush me, bitch, you-” Remy was interrupted by Anxiety slamming a hand over his mouth.

Remy glared at  Anxiety and began to move to remove the hand from his face, but Anxiety glared back and shook his head before he could.

“My victim is  _ right there _ , so shut up before you scare him away.”

Remy grabbed Anxiety’s hand, tearing it away from his face before dropping it again. He then leant in the direction that Anxiety was looking in. 

His eyes landed on a man who had just turned a corner, wearing an expensive-looking jacket and an even more expensive-looking watch, and with a face that looked very smug and even more punchable. And, most annoyingly of all, Remy  _ recognised  _ him: only from pictures, but he knew exactly who this man was.

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” Remy scowled. “You are  _ not  _ stealing my victim.”

“Your victim?” Anxiety said incredulously. “That’s  _ my  _ victim.”

“ _ Hell  _ no. You are not doing this again. Why do you keep going after the same guys as me?”

“I guess there’s a lot of overlap between the rich and the shitty,” Anxiety said with a shrug. At Remy’s glare, he sighed and continued. “I’m not  _ targeting  _ you, Sleep. Contrary to what you might think: I’m not  _ trying  _ to steal your kills. It’s not  _ my  _ fault you’re just bad at this.”

Remy gasped. “Me? Bad at this? How dare you! I am a fantastic murderer, and I will prove it to you.”

“Oh? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

Remy stood up suddenly, flashing Anxiety a grin. “By killing this guy before you can.”

“What?!” Anxiety stood up, too.

“You heard me,” Remy continued to grin at him. “I bet I can kill this guy before you can even catch up.”

Anxiety got all up in Remy’s face, and Remy was suddenly – and unfortunately, in his opinion – reminded of the fact that his rival was  _ hot,  _ even with his mask on.

“Don’t you  _ dare,”  _ Anxiety scowled.

Remy opened his mouth to snap something back, but that was when he noticed that Anxiety was ever-so-slightly taller than usual. He looked  down and noticed that Anxiety was stood up on his tiptoes, trying to make himself as tall as possible.

Remy laughed.

“Oh my god, you’re  _ adorable _ .”

“What?!” Anxiety’s face reddened under his mask.

“You’re on your tiptoes,” Remy grinned, gesturing down at their feet. “It’s  _ adorable.” _

Anxiety stumbled over his words. “Shu-  _ shut up!” _

“Nah, not when your reactions are so entertaining, babe.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Remy raised his hands. “Sorry, sorry,” he began.

He was about to say  more but was interrupted by the sound of a scream.

Remy and Anxiety exchanged an alarmed look, before they raced in the direction of the scream, that had sounded like it had come from their victim. They followed it, and quickly found the man, standing in an alleyway.

Right over a body.

The chest was ripped open, its ribcage open and broken, and its heart missing. The head was smashed, and there was blood and brain and all kinds of disgusting things all over the ground and the body and the walls. There was a small card beside the body, covered in scribbles. Though Remy couldn’t read the not scribbled out section from where he stood, he had a hunch about what was left.

On a clean section of wall, there were the words ‘The Duke’ in messy, almost unreadable, neon green spray paint, with a picture of a broken crown just beside it.

The man turned to them when they stepped into the alleyway, giving them a terrified look.

“He- he was like that when I got here-” the man began, before he noticed the masks on Remy and Anxiety’s faces, and the knife in Remy’s hand.

His eyes widened, but Remy leapt at him before he could scream.

He used one hand to cover the man’s mouth, and the other to quickly slit his throat.

Usually, he would never go for a method so quick – and especially without dramatically monologuing to the victim first – but there were other things to be focusing on now.

The body dropped to the ground, and Anxiety didn’t even spare it a glance.

He took a step towards the other body – the one further into the alleyway – but Remy caught him by his sleeve and tugged him back before he could. Anxiety immediately pulled his hoodie out of Remy’s grip.

“What, is this one of yours?” He snapped.

Remy shook his head. “No, but I know people who are  gonna wanna see this, anyway. We shouldn’t touch it.”

Anxiety took a step away from him. “What, are you with the police, or something?”

Remy snorted. “Hell no. We’re just looking into this Duke guy.”

Anxiety relaxed slightly. “Right, right, whatever.” He took another step towards the body, but not close enough to touch it, leaning over and squinting at the ID card, which lay exactly in a beam of moonlight, where it could be read from where it was on the ground. “What do they want with... Nicholas, anyway? And what the hell is up with scribbling out everything but the card?”

“No clue,” Remy shrugged.

“Right.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Do you mind?” Anxiety asked awkwardly, gesturing towards the body of the man whose throat Remy had just slit.

“Oh, no. Do what you want, I don’t care,” Remy said, glancing at him for a moment, before turning back to the corpse of 'Nicholas’.

Anxiety knelt down, avoiding the puddle of blood that had poured from the now-dead man’s throat, and beginning to go through his pockets. He found the wallet quickly, and then stood back up again.

He pocketed it, and then awkwardly shifted from one foot to the other.

“I’m... gonna go,” he said, equally awkwardly.

“Okay, uh... bye?”

“Bye.”

And then, Anxiety turned to leave.

Remy watched him go until he was out of sight, before he turned back to the body.

After a moment, he realised that he should probably call his dads, so he reached for the phone in his pocket and pulled it out.

As he opened Patton’s contact, ready to call him, he realised that he had forgotten to ask Anxiety for his knife back.


	10. Chapter Nine

“Come on, come on!  Slice him, slice him!” 

“I’m trying, I’m trying!” 

_ “Punch him!” _

_ “I’m working on- OH, OH, I GOT IT!” _

“WHOO!”

The twins cheered and Peter took a  hand off of his controller to high five his sibling. Missy returned it enthusiastically, a big grin on their face. 

“It only took thirty tries, but we’re finally on the next level,” she said. “Now, Petey, for the next one I need your soul... sole attention directed to the TV screen if we’re  gonna beat this.”

Peter nodded seriously and the two of them looked back to the screen, just in time for the loading screen to finish and bring them back into the game. They were about the third of the way through the next level, when they heard a yelp from one floor up, making them both jump. 

Missy turned to their brother slowly and raised one brow. 

“Peter,” she said slowly. “Did you put another plastic spider in Dad’s bed?”

Peter whistled softly. “...Maybe.”

Missy rolled their eyes and got to her feet. “Dad! You okay?”

“Just fine!” Brian called back down to her. “Tell Peter he’s got dish duty for the week, please?”

They grinned. “Gladly!” She turned back to their brother. “You got in trouble!” She said gleefully.

Peter stuck a tongue out at her. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now are we playing a game or not?”

“Not!” Hart walked into the room, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Your grandparents and great aunts want to have dinner with us tonight, so we’re heading over now to help  Grauntie April and Grandpa with the cooking.”

Peter groaned and flopped onto the floor. Missy leaned over him and saved the game. 

“But we’re finally on level twelve!” Peter groaned. 

Hart rolled his eyes fondly. “Sure,” he said. “But think of it this way: you’ll have lots of Grauntie April snacks without your cousins around to steal them.” 

Peter thought for a moment, and then leapt to his feet. 

“What are we waiting for then?” He exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get a move on!”

He ran towards the car and Hart just chuckled. 

Missy tilted their head. “How long is he going to wait in the car for?”

“Not long,” Hart told her. “I haven’t unlocked it yet. And I probably won’t unlock it until your Dad is done lagging behind.”

Missy snorted and grinned. “Oh my- Pop. You’re a mastermind. A genius! I bow to your superior mischief skills.”

Hart winked at her. “Why, thank you! Now... I can’t really think of a reason to rush your Dad. Can you?”

They grinned wickedly. “Not one.”

***

An hour and a half later, they were all tucked around a long dining table, chatting happily, plates piled high with their great aunt’s delicious food. The adults were talking business, mostly, but every so often they’d direct a question or two so that the twins felt included: even though neither teen had any interest in being included in anything but the food. 

They were listening, though. Their fathers had taught them to listen, especially when it looked like they weren’t. Their side of the family may not have been involved in the flash and publicity of murder, but intel was more vital and treacherous a trade anyway. 

Listening was hard. It took more finesse than throwing knives and bullets through the air, no matter what Remy said. And no one were better listeners than Peter and Missy Sanders.

“Have we heard anything new about that Duke fellow?” May asked.

Brian shrugged. “Not that I’ve been told. I think Roman and Virgil investigated his last kill but we’ve yet to find any true hints to their identity.”

April hummed, mouth pinching into a frown. “That’s worrisome. Bad enough we’ve got that killer one town over. But someone in our own town and we can’t find them? Word will spread.”

“I think Remy is dealing with the killer a town over,” Hart said, passing the bread. “At least as far as Patty’s told me. Dorian seems to think that it doesn’t really qualify as dealing with it, though, from what he’s told me. Who knows what he means by  that. ”

June chuckled. “Oh, he’s just like May when we were young. Murder is easy, but feelings? No, thank you. Back then she would have taken an army of lawmen over talking about her feelings any day of the week.”

“Thank goodness you grew out of that,” April leaned over and kissed her wife’s cheek. 

May sighed softly and gave her a look that could only be described as lovesick. “Yeah, thank goodness.”

June smiled at them, fond of her sister and sister-in-law, before turning to her husband. “You want one of those?”

Henry smiled. “Yes, please.” 

She leaned over and pecked his cheek, the man practically melting at the contact. 

Missy wrinkled her nose. Ugh, alloromantics. 

“I will say, though,” Brian mused. “The whole Duke thing... something doesn’t sit quite right. All the copycats I’ve seen before at least tried to emulate Roman’s kill style in some way. But this... it almost seems like gloating: as if he – or whoever they are – is trying to prove something. Trying to rub it in Roman’s face. Or maybe just saying something.” He rubbed at his temple. “Ugh. This is gonna bug me.”

“Well, I know one thing,” June said confidently, taking another roll. “Whoever this is, at some point in the very near future they’re going to be face to face with the entire Sanders family. And if I know our family – and I do – then I know they don’t stand a chance.”

Hart smiled at her. “Thanks, mom,” he said. “I think all we need is a hint. One little glimmer into the tunnel to figure out what this game is. If we can do that, I think we’ll win.”

“Game?” Missy tilted their head to one side. “What do you mean game?”

Hart drummed his fingers against the table, thinking. 

“...If you look at the big picture,” he said slowly. “It seems at least a little like a game: taking only the hearts, scratching out everything but the first name, like they want us to know it. Whoever the Duke is, they’re leaving clues and they clearly want us to figure something out. We just don’t know what. It’s a puzzle, but we don’t know what kind. The Duke is toying with us, I think that much is clear.”

Missy blinked. “ No, they’re not.”

Every head at the table swiveled to face them. She shrugged. 

“They’re not messing with us, they’re messing with the Royal Court,” she said. "Probably Uncle Logan and Uncle Roman, if not all of them. They named themselves after royalty – the same name as Uncle Logan – it’s not a play on the name ‘The Tasks.’ Why would they do that if they weren’t targeting the Royal Court specifically?” They shoveled more pasta into her mouth, staring back at the adults. 

There was a long pause. Then,  Grauntie April laughed. 

“Well!” She smiled. “Good to know the future is in clever hands. Brian, kiddo, would you-”

“On it.” Brian whipped out his phone and started typing rapidly. “They’ll all have a higher quality security system within the next three  days, and it’ll be wired to our houses within the week.”

April nodded, satisfied. “Thank you. At any rate, what have you two kids been up to, lately? Any special someones in your lives?”

Missy wrinkled her nose again. “Thank you, no. I am none gender with left girl and none attraction with left no.”

April laughed a little. “I can respect that. Peter? Are you... ‘none  attrac with left no’ too?” She said that last part a little awkwardly, like she had no idea what any of that meant.

Peter snorted and swallowed the food in his mouth. “Nah, I’m gay. I’m a snacc, too, but apparently no one’s hungry.”

April blinked, brows furrowed, clearly confused. But Missy just chuckled. 

“Then,  _ clearly _ __ you’ve not looked in the direction of Phillip  Spionera in a few months,” She quipped, leaning forward and grinning at their brother. “ Cause, he looks at you like he’s  _ starving _ .”

Peter squawked and threw a roll at them with a loud “YEET!” 

April blinked and turned back to the adults. “I don’t think I understand youth culture anymore.”

Everyone laughed and – luckily for Peter – changed topics to more inane things like weapons dealerships for the rest of the evening. 

***

When their stomachs and hearts were all filled, April and May sent them on their way. Hugs and kisses exchanged all around twice over before June and Henry piled into one car and Hart, Brian, and the twins piled into another. 

Hart was smiling softly the whole drive, but it wasn’t until they were almost home that Brian asked him why. 

He hummed in response at first before sighing softly. “I just... it’s nice to finally have all our family together again. It took a while but... all the Sanders together, I was starting to think I’d never see the day. But here we are, at long last.”

Brian smiled, too. He reached over and held Hart’s hand, squeezing a little. 

“Here we are,” he echoed. “All together at last.”


End file.
